Conquerers write the Book
For the conquered
History, now becomes, his story
No history, like a man without country
No past, means no identity
Never will I turn the other cheek
If every dog has it's day I deserve a week
What comes around and you know the rest
And when it comes, I'll be there
I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired
Do I love to hate from all the years of soul decay
I close my eyes but I never sleep
Thoughts of pain that breaks my peace
I taste the rage in every tear
The hate man makes, I fear
You write the rules
You keep the score
When I master the game
You erase the board
No history, is a man without country
No past, means no identity
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